Then there was Trego and Meeker’s appearance at the bank, “seeking alms,” and the further fact that Trego was in the Kut Sang.  It seemed to be more than a coincidence that the two of them should meet as they did.

I even found something queer in the killing of the boatswain of the Kut Sang at the Flagship Bar, and began to wonder if Petrak did not have a hand in the murder, even though he was so ready with a denial when I spoke to him about it.

As I stood at the rail of the hurricane-deck, and thought of these things, Petrak came up from the fore-deck and stood at the foot of the ladder leading to the bridge, where I could hear Captain Riggs pacing to and fro and speaking through the trap to the helmsman about the course.

The little red-headed man grinned at me and set to work polishing the knob of the wheel-house door, and not until that minute did I realize that he had come along with us in the Kut Sang.  And he likewise reminded me at once that it was I who had brought him aboard.

“I signed on, sir,” he said, pointing to his new cap, which had the steamer’s name embroidered upon it.  “Thanks to you, sir, I got a ship out.”

“I am glad you did,” I said curtly, not sure whether I ought to be amused at the turn of events by which I had unwittingly brought the little rascal along with me.

I glanced up the companionway to Captain Riggs, and had a mind to go up and speak to him about Meeker, but I disliked to invade the bridge, sacred territory at sea.  He was standing just at the head of the ladder then, and could see me.

“Would you mind the peseta, sir?” asked Petrak.

I remembered that he had brought my bag aboard, and, finding a peso in my pocket—­five times what he had asked for—­I gave him the coin.

“Here,” I said; “take this, and keep out of my reach.  I’ve seen quite enough of you for a time.”

“Please don’t tip my crew,” Captain Riggs called down to me in a pleasant manner.  “The steward’s department must attend to the passengers, for we are short-handed on deck, and I can’t have the men running errands.”

“It’s for services rendered,” I told Riggs, and he nodded as if satisfied with my explanation, and turned away to the other end of the bridge.

Impulsively I started up the ladder, determined at least to tell him what I suspected of Meeker and let him judge for himself, or be on his guard against the old impostor, whether he liked my tale-bearing or not.  As I put my hand out to take the ladder-guard, Petrak thrust himself before me and barred the way.

“Can’t go on the bridge, sir; against orders,” he said.

I fell back, convinced that he was right and that I had had a narrow escape from making an ass of myself.  Captain Riggs probably would not thank me for disturbing him or bothering him with idle rumours and fanciful yarns about passengers, even though they might be spies.